


You Don't Know What You've Got Until It's Gone (But I Won't Let You Be Gone)

by sweeterthankarma



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, The only fic I plan on writing that considers 3x02 to be canon, aside from this I am ignoring that episode and pretending it never happened, post 3x02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 23:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15520959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: "I’m sure you know this,” Waverly says, taking a deep breath before finishing, “but he loved you, Wynonna.”Silence hangs around them and Waverly adds, “it was so obvious.”“Yeah,” Wynonna replies as soon as the last word leaves her sister’s mouth. Her voice is rough and low. “And I love him.”There’s a pause, both of them waiting before she says, “present tense.”





	You Don't Know What You've Got Until It's Gone (But I Won't Let You Be Gone)

**Author's Note:**

> So displeased with 3x02 that not only did I have to write a fix-it fic (see other works) but I had to write this depressing post episode piece (that kind of doubles as a fix-it fic in a way too.) Not sure if I'm going to keep watching Wynonna Earp after this since Dolls was/is so near and dear to my heart, but I cope through writing so this piece both broke me even more, and also healed me in quite a few ways. I hope it can do the same for my readers as well.

Wynonna hasn’t said a word in three days. 

Waverly sits beside her silently every now and then, torn between wanting to give her space and wanting her to know she’s there, and when night falls she sleeps across the room and pretends she doesn’t hear when she tosses and turns and sobs against her pillow at three in the morning. Both their eyes are red and puffy when they wake up, and neither of them mention it, even when they can hear Jeremy sniffling from upstairs too.  

Waverly brings Wynonna food she doesn’t eat, and water she reluctantly sips before setting down the glass so hard it shatters. She waits a while before cleaning it up, and Wynonna gives her a sad, sorry look as she does so. It’s the first time they’ve made eye contact in what feels like ages, and Wynonna’s expression is so miserable, so hopeless, so forlorn that Waverly almost wishes she’d just left it alone.

Wynonna breaks the next glass she brings down too, but this time she kicks the shards into the corner, so hard the paint on the bottom of the wall chips and the wood underneath caves in. Waverly thinks the fact that Wynonna’s stood up for any reason besides going to the bathroom might be an improvement, but still, she makes a mental note to bring her a paper cup next time.

The others are all stagnant upstairs, unmoving except for Doc’s increasingly frequent trips outside to smoke and Nicole’s efforts to clean whatever mess has been made through Waverly’s cooking. She does laundry too, waters the indoor plants and organizes the bookshelves, but it’s all a distraction, a way for her to feel like she’s in control. The mess isn’t anything physical, though, and the solution isn’t nearly as simple as cleaning up grease stains or washing dishes. If only it was, then maybe Wynonna would take a shower and fix it. 

But no, this is bad. This is worse than anything they’ve dealt with so far, irreversible and awful and unspeakable, so they don’t say anything at all. They’re all grieving with it in different ways and they let each other do that, knowing deep down they’re trying to make changes that won’t manifest into anything that matters.

Nicole hasn’t been sleeping. Her tangled hair and bloodshot eyes make it obvious, so Waverly urges her to get some sleep, and after some prodding she agrees to go home. She’s drained, needs her own bed, and Calamity Jane is likely so hungry she’s resorted to chewing on Nicole’s socks. It’s something she does when she’s anxious, and Waverly thought it was adorable the first time Nicole told her she had to throw a couple knee highs into Calamity’s carrier anytime she had to take her to the vet. Now, she wouldn’t be surprised if her girlfriend’s bedroom floor is littered with various pieces of hosiery— it feels like all of Purgatory, if not the whole world, can feel this tragedy. There’s a shift, palpable in the air that hangs so thick she’s sure Peacemaker could shoot a hole in it. The universe is absolutely not the same as it was three and a half days ago. It’s lost one of the best, albeit cryptic, people Waverly has ever been fortunate enough to know. 

Jeremy snores on the living room carpet at four PM, and Doc isn’t so sure he’s sleeping so much as avoiding the paperwork sprawled in front of him, pages turned away from anything Dolls had said, written, or planned on doing. Still, he’s lucky he’s found a peaceful moment. Doc hasn’t dreamt of anything but hell these past few days, of demons and gunshots and vials of medicine, poured down a drain and dripping on Dolls’ cold, unmoving body in a black bag. It’s a gruesome scene that lingers in his mind’s eye even when he’s awake, and it shakes him even more knowing it’s true. He’s a  _ corpse _ now, and this isn’t even the first time, isn’t even the first universe where he’s had to watch him die. They weren’t exactly friends, but they weren’t enemies, and they were something stronger than acquaintances or colleagues. Doc can’t find the word, no matter how long he sits and stares at the crumbling ash of his cigarillo. Whatever they were, they could have been better.  _ He  _ could have been better. 

    “It’ll be alright,” were the marshal’s final words —  sincere, even after the gunslinger had called him a murderer and pinned a grudge against his chest for a decision that he had also made, and easily forgiven himself for, too. He wanted him to feel his own suffering, to equate him to his own level of abasement, but he was wrong to do so; he could never be so good to be considered the same as a man who gave up his life for the ones he loved. No, Doc was the kind to make a deal with the devil and  _ lose _ the ones he loved all so he didn’t have to suffer. 

He had been ridiculously incorrect in their last conversation. Dolls was meant for heaven...and now he was there.

It’s a thought that brings tears to Doc’s eyes, and he blinks them away through another smoke. No use in crying, he repeats to himself.  _ No use in crying.  _

But that’s exactly what Waverly does once Nicole leaves. She runs a bath, boiling hot because she’s still cold after her stint in the voice snatching cannibal’s cage. Besides, it makes her feel real, alert and awake, and there’s an aching chill inside her body, in her heart that she needs to fix. But the water just stings, turns her skin red, but makes no difference. 

She cries now. She had stifled her sobs around her sister — she had to, her loss was nothing compared to Wynonna’s and she knew it— but now she lets herself weep, lets the salt dry on her lips, an aftertaste of the sorrow that stays even after she’s dried off and gotten into her pajamas. 

_ I’ll never forget this,  _ she had said to Dolls when he offered to let Jeremy test on him to find the anti-venom to save Nicole’s life. She had been terrified, focused on herself and her love, so much so she never even really had time to commend Dolls for what he was doing for her, for  _ them.  _ She hopes he knew how thankful she was, how thankful she still is — and always will be — for everything he did and was. A friend, a colleague, a hero, a brother figure...she’ll never forget  _ him, _ period. 

When Waverly goes downstairs to check on Wynonna again, she’s moved only from laying down to sitting upright. She sits beside her before speaking, not wanting to surprise her with her presence, but Wynonna just keeps staring straight ahead, eyes distant, even when the floorboards creak. 

Waverly wishes she’d speak, at least look at her again. The room is dark, there’s nothing to see anyways, but Waverly still feels small next to her, and a little forgotten about even though she knows that’s not the case, that’s  _ never  _ the case. 

She eventually finds her voice and says, after what feels like hours, “hey, do you want the light on?”

Wynonna replies with the slightest shake of her head, almost imperceptible if Waverly didn’t know her so well. She recognizes her stages of grieving, they’ve been through them together more times than she can count on both their hands, and god, it hurts to think about that. How many loved ones will Wynonna Earp have to lose before the universe decides she’s been tortured enough? Is she really  _ that  _ cursed? Is there something more than just their family scourge hanging above them, or is this just par for the course?

    “I’m sure you know this,” Waverly says, taking a deep breath before finishing, “but he loved you, Wynonna.” 

She needs to say it even though she knows she probably shouldn’t; it’s intense and likely adds insult to injury so she won’t be surprised if Wynonna decides to lash out, yell or cry or demand she leave and stay over Nicole’s. It’s a truth that’s been swelling inside of her and felt like a statement that needed to be in the air, needed to be acknowledged and appreciated, even if the wound is at its rawest and this only cuts it deeper.

Silence hangs around them and Waverly adds, “it was so obvious.”

    “Yeah,” Wynonna replies as soon as the last word leaves her sister’s mouth. Her voice is rough and low. “And I love him.”

There’s a pause, both of them waiting before she says, “present tense.”

It’s a firm, matter of fact, and fierce statement, and honestly, Waverly’s never heard her sound quite like this. She’s shaken and hurting, even her voice quivers, but hidden deep is determination and motive. There’s grit at the hilt of her words that sounds a bit like denial, and Waverly’s face falls in recognition.   
She’s trying to think up the correct response, but Wynonna doesn’t give her time to. She stands up so quick Waverly jumps in her skin and lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

    “All these spells and curses and shit, there has to be one that can bring him back,” Wynonna mutters, and then walking with purpose towards the door. Waverly follows, calling her name, but she doesn’t turn around. 

She takes the keys to her Jeep without asking and guns it out of the driveway. Waverly watches out the window, eyes focusing on the dust that settles against the dirty snow, and she can feel her heart battering against her ribcage, overwhelmed. Jeremy wakes up, gives her a look, confused and mildly concerned, but she just shrugs as Doc puts out a cigarette against the wood of the dining table. 

She thinks she should be afraid, knows she should be trying to reign her people in and bring them back to earth before their grief lifts them too high, but it doesn’t feel like her place. They’ll get through this somehow, she knows it. Wynonna’s always been a creature of spite anyways, driven by righting wrongs, even if the wrongs were her own doing, and it’s been a devil of a trait, something Waverly’s resented for the longest time. Now, she thinks it might be the thing that saves them...and maybe, just maybe, if they’re lucky, it’ll save Dolls too. 

It may be a false, stupid, irrational hope, but Waverly’s so desperate she’s willing to get behind it. Wynonna’s never been receptive to sympathy, and Waverly knows better than to give it to her. Besides, something about what she said had struck a chord deep in her mind. They’ve encountered vampires, face-snatching sister wives and a scarecrow that lived inside a hockey trophy— a resurrection doesn’t sound so impossible.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me in the comments or swing by my Tumblr @ sweeterthankarma, where I'm constantly angry and sad over this ending and dreaming of the one we deserved. (I'm not giving up hope on a resurrection, because it's Wynonna Earp, after all...but I'm also not holding my breath.)


End file.
